Much Ado About Nothing
by Akuro
Summary: Crushes are tricky, especially when Miyako decides that it'd be fun to help out and get you together. ... With the wrong guy. [Daisuke x Yamato] [no relation to Shakespeare]
1. It Begins

**01 It Begins**

* * *

**  
**

"Miyako-san..."

Clash.

"Miyako-san, please put down that knife."

"Watch it!"

"Can we try to handle this calmly...?"

"I have had it up to here with the damn pudding!"

"Miyako! Just because it didn't turn out right—"

Another clash.

"Takeru, move—"

"Shit—!"

Daisuke stared at the entrance to the Inoue residence, the cheerfully designed door plaque disguising the pit of hell inside. His fist fell back to his side as he rethought his decision of coming to Miyako for help. It sounded like she was busy, anyway. Bothering her in the middle of whatever insane activity she was indulging herself in wouldn't be the best course of action.

He mused over his remaining closest friends for another possible candidate, preferably one not armed with a knife. Ken, he had learned, despite all his genius, really sucked at relationships. The first (also the last) time that Daisuke had sought out him out, Ken had flushed, briefly, and ended up giving a lecture on psychology and hormones and functions of the brain. Going to Iori wasn't even an option; Daisuke's remaining dignity refused to suffer the love advice of a twelve-year-old. Hikari was a good listener - sweet, empathetic. However, patience always had a breaking point and Daisuke felt as if he'd pushed hers far enough. Their last conversation had left the girl looking thoroughly frustrated. She had been nice about it, though, politely telling him to "stop being an avoidant, idiotic ass and just _confess _so the rest of us can have a little peace!"

That left Takeru. Daisuke wasn't too sure how he felt about letting Takeru in on his little infatuation. Though it might work to his benefit, provided the blonde's tongue didn't slip and spill his secret. After all, Takeru was in the perfect position to weasel out a little information on effective "woo"ing. Daisuke wasn't the type to turn down a helpful hint or four. Ten, probably, with how things had been going so far – which was a few steps from nowhere.

So Takeru it was. The problem being that Takeru was in the same room as Miyako, and avoiding Miyako had been the entire point.

Steeling himself for the worst, Daisuke finally knocked. The door swung open mere seconds after and Miyako smiled down at him, as if she had been expecting his arrival.

Daisuke stared at her pudding-splotched apron with suspicion. "Is Takeru here? Did something explode on you?"

"Come on in," Miyako offered, ignoring his questions. "Make yourself comfortable."

Daisuke stepped inside and kicked off his shoes, looking around the apartment for any signs of immediate danger. Peering over the counter that separated the living room from the kitchen, he felt a certain relief when he recognized the barely visible mess of dirty-blonde hair. He didn't particularly know _why_ Takeru was on the kitchen floor, but it was just good to know that he was still okay and hadn't been decapitated yet or anything.

A soft-spoken voice drifted into the room. "Miyako-san, Takeru is still bleeding."

Daisuke reconsidered for the second time that day and turned around hastily, prepared to sulk back home and forget about his crush until he met a group of new, less questionable friends. "Maybe I should come back later."

Miyako yanked on his sweatshirt hood, effectively dragging him back despite his protests. "Hikari told me it was important."

"Hikari-chan?" Daisuke stopped thrashing. He scowled, rubbing his cheek. "I told her not to tell." Now that Miyako knew, it would be impossible to talk to Takeru first.

"Do have any first aid supplies, Miyako-san?" Iori asked as he shuffled out of the kitchen and down the hallway. His voice was followed by a deeper groan from the kitchen: "I can't believe this."

The girl was undaunted, calling back, "Bathroom, behind the mirror, second shelf. Relax, Takeru, you're not gonna die. Besides, Daisuke's got love problems." Miyako clutched at her chest melodramatically. "And we all know a bleeding heart is so much harder to mend than a bleeding arm."

Iori shot the girl a disapproving look as he re-emerged from the hallway with a plastic bottle, a wad of cotton balls, and bandages. " Miyako-san..."

Takeru sounded uncharacteristically annoyed. "Forget it, she's busy." There was a tentative pause. "And that better not be rubbing alcohol."

Satisfied, Miyako refocused her attention. "Well?"

Daisuke stalled, searching for any possible escape. "I don't know, Miyako…" There was a small, very small part of him hoping that Takeru might end up having to be rushed to the hospital because his blood was having a hard time clotting, and this pre-planned discussion with Miyako would be cancelled.

Takeru swore loudly as the rubbing alcohol was applied, but failed to start dying messily on the kitchen floor. Miyako stood, impatient.

Daisuke rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah, fine."

* * *

"…there's this person." 

"How long has it been?"

Daisuke found a growing interest in the bed sheets. Miyako sat opposite him, pillow in her lap, watching attentively. "It was kind of… slow, actually? I mean, we've known each other for a long time." He picked at a loose thread. "I don't think liking someone is really an instant thing, anyway."

"So you know them well?"

"We're pretty close." The boy met Miyako's eyes, tilting his head thoughtfully. "But we clashed really bad in the beginning."

"Right," she laughed. "You were too much of a stubborn bastard for them to handle?"

"... I call it a really big misunderstanding."

"Whatever." Miyako smirked. "What's your person like?"

If there was one thing Daisuke didn't like about heart-to-hearts with Miyako, it was her tendency to intrude. With anybody else, they would stop at a few sincere words of encouragement, helpful suggestions at the most, but they would never get involved. Miyako, though - if she thought it was necessary, she would go marching up to the guy's apartment door, sleeves rolled up, and cuss them out thoroughly, demanding them to get their act together before she ripped their intestines out and strangled them with it. Sure, sticking up for her friends was great. Daisuke was just afraid of the possible body count.

"You're not going to try to find out who it is and stalk them down, are you?"

Miyako batted her eyelashes. "Of course not."

"Of course not," Daisuke repeated. When all he was met with was a petulant look, he grudgingly described, "Tall, dark, and mysterious."

"I never knew you were into stereotypes, Daisuke."

"Well, actually, he's pretty pale."

"That's better." Miyako paused to let the rest of the new observation sink in, then stared at the boy over the rim of her glasses, eyebrows raised. "He?"

Daisuke coughed. "Uh. Surprise."

There was another pause, longer than the first. Then: "Daisuke, how dare you!"

Daisuke face faulted. "Hey, it's not really something I can help, you know."

"But you never told me! God. I can't believe our loud, obnoxious Daisuke is gay."

"Bisexual!" Daisuke protested.

Miyako leaned forward eagerly. "So? Who's the lucky guy?"

"You don't really expect me to tell you, do you?"

Miyako paused, considering. "You know how much you mean to me, Daisuke. You know you can tell me anything."

Daisuke wasn't convinced. Miyako rolled her eyes.

"Fine, whatever. Then just talk about… what he's like. Why do you like him so much?"

As the boy drifted into thought, Miyako was engaged in her own deliberations. The fact that Daisuke's unnamed crush was one of the Chosen was pretty much obvious; they were, after all, Daisuke's closest and oldest friends. Since it was a guy, she could narrow the list down to Taichi, Yamato, Koushirou, Jyou, Takeru, Ken, and Iori. With tall and pale as descriptors, she could automatically cross off Iori, Koushirou, and Taichi. Daisuke had also mentioned previous conflicts with his crush, so she took off Jyou. That left Yamato, Ken, and Takeru. Not bad at all.

Daisuke finally spoke up. "Well, there's his personality."

"Elaborate?"

The boy shot her a dry look. "I was planning to."

Miyako smile sweetly. "Well don't let me stop you."

"Oh, shut up." In response, the girl pantomimed zipping her lips. Rolling his eyes, Daisuke continued, "He's really... cool. Never lets anything phase him. Tries not to, anyway. Some people think it's arrogance, I guess, but I just think he's kinda insecure. He's not emotionless or anything, he acts pretty natural with close friends, but whenever anything major hits, he just sort of... isolates himself. And pretends like it doesn't matter. Like he refuses to talk about it because he 'doesn't want to burden you with his problems', which is absolute bullshit."

Scratch off Takeru, the girl noted as she continued listening. Takeru couldn't come across as arrogant if his life depended on it.

"It's really annoying, especially since I can't really talk to him about it... we haven't talked a lot lately, actually. He's always busy with being popular and having people throwing themselves at his feet. It's so annoying! I mean, I already have to deal with all his emotional walls and shit. The wall of fan girls is kinda pushing it." Daisuke made a face. "Being famous sucks, you know?"

"Famous, huh."

"… yeah. Um, so, when we do get to spend time together, he's really great." Daisuke sighed, almost dreamily. "Like his smile. He has this really pretty smile. Cause he has all these different smiles, like, I'm only smiling to get you to fuck off, but when he _really_ smiles..."

The girl raised an eyebrow. "Don't melt on my bed sheets, Daisuke."

Daisuke ducked his head. "Shut up!"

"You sound like you really like him, Daisuke..."

"Give the girl a prize."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm trying to be nice. I really hope things work out. And I promise I won't meddle or anything. Honest, okay?"

Daisuke was doubtful. "I'm trusting you with the deepest recesses of my heart."

A noncommittal shrug. "Sure."

"... You're going to break it and sell the pieces, aren't you?"

Miyako smiled. "Of course not."

She crossed off a name from her mental list and circled the remaining one triumphantly.

* * *

Takeru looked up from the couch as Daisuke slumped out of the room. His arm was fixed up, but that didn't prevent it from rubbing it cautiously as he called out, "Hey, Daisuke." A mumbled greeting was all he got in reply. "Okay, whatever, don't ask how I'm doing. I'm glad you care." 

Daisuke grinned over his shoulder as he treaded towards apartment door. He jammed his feet into his sneakers. "You know you make my heart flutter, Takeru."

The blonde's mouth quirked. "My brother'll be jealous."

Daisuke froze, staring at Takeru's mild smile. The comment clicked, and he shoved his hand through his hair with a groan. "By the time I actually get around to telling him, he'll already know. You better not say anything."

Takeru raised his hands, a gesture of innocence. "I'm just planning on letting you enjoy the frustration to the max."

"Fucker," Daisuke accused playfully, and disappeared behind the door.

Iori nudged the blonde in the side now that Daisuke had gone. "So it's…?"

"Hmm?" Takeru blinked. "Oh. Yeah. It's Yamato." When Iori gave him a surprised look, he nodded, a little awkwardly. "Weird, huh? Don't know how it happened, but they've gotten awfully close."

Miyako burst out of her room before the their conversation could go any further, waving a piece of paper in the air victoriously. "I got it! I went back over all the details and I know who Daisuke likes!"

Silence. Two pairs of eyes watched her expectantly.

"It's Ken! It has to be Ken. Everything he told me describes Ken, it just _has _to be Ken."

Takeru shook his head in disbelief. Iori just cringed.

Poor Daisuke.


	2. A Salute to Obnoxious Voices

**02 A Salute to Obnoxious Voices**

* * *

Daisuke was lost. Horribly lost. Horribly, terribly, extremely, absolutely, very, very lost. 

He paused briefly to compliment himself on his vocabulary.

He probably _shouldn't_ have been lost, seeing as he had walked to and from Miyako's apartment enough times to have the route painfully imprinted in his brain. But thinking about someone else had never been good for his attention span, and since he never had that large of one in the first place, it had been too easy for his to miss a turn at an intersection and realize, ten minutes later, that he had no idea where he was. He ended up pacing around the same few blocks, searching for some familiar landmark, some familiar person, some familiar _something._

Passing the same tree for the seventh time didn't count.

It wasn't before long that Daisuke stopped paying attention to his surroundings and settled for circling the block moodily, hoping that saving the world had been enough to convince life to cut him some slack and let him off the hook this time. He was special, right? Waiting impatiently for his miracle to arrive, the boy rediscovered the obnoxious voice that had made itself comfortable in his head ever since he had been landed with this new crush.

_Daisuke rides the special bus,_ the voice offered. It sounded suspiciously like Miyako.

_Shut up_, the boy scowled.

_You're right. Sorry. _The moment of silence passed quickly, as did the mock-guilt that had accompanied it. _Daisuke DRIVES the special bus._

_Hey, shut UP. I'm trying to figure out how to get home—_

_And it's not working..._

_Maybe if you shut up, it would!_

_Maybe if you hadn't been fawning over Yamato like a lovesick puppy on crack—_

"Is talking to yourself normal for you?" asked a familiar, amused voice. Daisuke looked up, blinking, and recognized who it was immediately. Not hard, since Yamato had been on his mind the whole day. Daisuke flashed him a bright grin.

"Didn't you know? I ride the special bus."

* * *

"You're crazy," Iori said flatly.

"You only just noticed?" Takeru replied, idly wondering how he and his friend had managed to get dragged into this one. He hated being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Crazier than usual."

Takeru murmured his agreement before saying, louder, "Miyako, do you really think getting involved is a good idea? Let love take its course, or whatever they say."

Miyako rolled her eyes. "Daisuke and Ken will thank me for this later. Besides, I'm the Child of Love. I know what I'm doing."

Sighing and closing his eyes, the blonde leaned back onthe couch, deeming it a hopeless case. Iori, however, wasn't that quick to let it go. He squirmed uncomfortably, clearing his throat for attention. " Miyako-san..."

The girl eyed him less fiercely than she had his companion. "Iori?"

"I don't think Daisuke likes Ken in that way..."

Surprised by the ridiculous idea, she set it aside without a second thought, waving her hand dismissively. "Of course he does. He described Ken perfectly."

Helpless, Iori gently nudged Takeru in the side for help. The other boy opened his eyes, exasperate, but pitched in anyway for the sake of Iori's sense of morality and Daisuke's currently-nonexistent-yet-soon-to-be-ruined love life. "Maybe it describes someone else too. You never know."

Miyako frowned, glaring. "Are you saying I'm wrong, Takeru?"

"... I'm sorry, did I say something?" Takeru immediately lifted his eyes to the ceiling, studying it with an air of innocence. Iori resisted the urge to smack his forehead.

"That's what I thought," said Miyako. "Okay, so help me out. Ken's visiting Odaiba for the Teen-age Wolves gig this weekend. I can put him and Daisuke in awkward positions the whole day, drop hints, strain their patience and restraint until they can't handle it, and then - _bam_."

Takeru had closed his eyes again. "Sure, Miyako."

"You think it'll work? I'll have to work on it, make it crafty, but you think...?"

"Sure, Miyako."

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Sure, Miyako."

"... Takeru. I want you to have my babies."

"Sure, Miyako."

The girl immediately set upon beating Takeru up with a sofa cushion while Iori looked around for an open window to jump out of.

* * *

Yamato couldn't remember when exactly it had started, but a few weeks ago, Daisuke had started following him. It had been mostly a "hey, you're going in this direction, great, so am I" type of thing. So Daisuke ended up walking him home, claiming that it was along the way when his own apartment complex was in the other direction. Subtlety had never been Daisuke's forte.

Yamato hadn't thought much of it, passing it off as idolization. Besides, he actually liked spending time with the kid. They hadn't really been 'bumping into' each other lately, with The Teen-Age Wolves' schedule picking up as much as it was. He sort of missed it. Daisuke was great company, and never stopped surprising him, like now as Yamato watched him curiously, mouth quirked in amused inquiry. "So you got lost."

"Yeah."

"On the way home."

"Yeah..."

"From Miyako's house."

"Yeah," Daisuke confirmed again, his replies having steadily grown meeker and meeker. "Which I've been to and from countless times before."

Yamato just shook his head, hiding a faint grin. "Only you, Daisuke."

Daisuke jabbed the blonde in the side with his elbow. "Stop laughing at me."

"I'd never."

"You're a worse liar than your brother."

Eyebrows raised, Yamato shot back teasingly, "Wanna make something of it?"

Daisuke stuck his tongue out in retaliation. "I can open a can o' whoop-ass on you, dude."

The gesture was returned with all due childishness. "_Bring it_."

Daisuke suddenly raised his voice, gaining the attention of quite a few other strangers as he got up in Yamato's face playfully, standing on his toes. "Aw yeah?! Well you bettah _watcho back_, cause imma be breakin' it all ovah tha hood, yo."

Yamato couldn't help but laugh. Hard. "Daisuke."

"Watch yo'self, man."

" Daisuke, shut up."

Placing a hand on his hip, the younger boy brought his voice a couple octaves higher. "Oh no you _di'nt_!"

Yamato stumbled as he cracked up, apologizing weakly to the middle-aged couple he ended up bumping into. "Daisuke, you fucker," he said, once he could breathe, "shut up before you get arrested."

Daisuke just grinned. "I win, though, right?"

Yamato looked at him curiously. "What's your prize?"

Hormones immediately dictated Daisuke's train of thought. He found enough willpower to ignore them and settled for the simplest, announcing, "Take me home."

"Sure." Yamato shrugged. "Probably going to miss a bit of band practice, but..."

Daisuke paused, shoving his hands in his pockets. "You can just tell me the way if you don't want to be late."

Yamato smiled reassuringly. "I know. It's okay."

Daisuke blinked in surprise, unsure of how to respond. He shuffled his feet, staring at his shoes to hide the flush in his cheeks. "Thanks," he said, not noticing that he was pretty much speaking to himself by now. Yamato had already begun heading off in the other direction.

"Daisuke. Are you coming or what?"

The younger boy hurried forward, stumbling after him. "Yeah! Um, yeah. Sorry."

With a fond shake of his head, Yamato led the way, commenting idly as he tossed the other a sideways glance, "You're so weird."

Daisuke grinned sheepishly. "Fo'shizzle, dawg."

* * *

"My sanity feels threatened," Iori whispered to nobody in particular, sinking even deeper into the couch.

Takeru mumbled in quiet response, "Join the club."

"I don't want to join the club. I don't want anything to _do_ with the club."

The blonde patted his shoulder sympathetically. "Try to block her out. Think about happy things – open meadows, pink bunnies, rainbows, smilie faces..."

"Not helping!" the younger boy interrupted. He buried his head in his hands, voice muffled. "Why don't we just tell her that Daisuke likes Yamato-san?"

"We've tried. Many, many times. We've failed. Many, many times. And if we try again, we're going to fail again, and I'm mostly likely going to get hit with a knife again because she's going to get angry that we're disagreeing. Again."

Iori sighed. (Again.) He sunk further into the couch. "I can't believe this."

A shrug was his only answer, followed by the soft sound of Takeru's head falling against the cushion. Apparently, he had decided to go back to ignoring whatever was going on around him, leaving Iori alone in a world of crazy. The younger boy sighed and resumed in his attempt to get eaten by the couch cushions.

* * *

Yamato headed off to band practice with an anxious, almost giddy feeling in his stomach. Stupid Daisuke. Stupid Daisuke and how he made him laugh at the stupidest things. Stupid Daisuke and his stupid charisma. Stupid Daisuke and how he made Yamato miss him only ten minutes after he had left.

He shook his head. What the hell, Ishida?

Sure, Daisuke was a great kid, sweet, fun to be around, but was thinking about him this much really normal?

And was trying to justify that thinking of Daisuke this much was normal just proving that he was in denial and it _wasn't_ normal?

... wait, what?

"Shut up before you hurt yourself," Yamato muttered to himself as he combed his hand through his hair in frustration, but once again found himself pursuing the same topic again just a handful of seconds later. Maybe he was masochistic.

After a few minutes of careful reflection, he came to the obvious conclusion.

The obvious and very _unwanted_ conclusion.

"What? No! No, _no_. Fuck, no. He's a guy, he's my _little brother_'s age, totally not my type, he's too much of a friend to even _consider_— no."

_Denial is a pretty ugly place to be,_ the little voice in his head intoned with an obnoxious cheerfulness, but he promptly shoved it into the dusty recesses of his mind where all the other ignored voices welcomed it solemnly.

He had never been the one to listen to them, anyway.

* * *

Somewhere, in a far away land:

"Um, Miyako-san..."

"Christ, Miyako, there are no such things as love potions."


	3. What Friends Are For

**03 What Friends Are For**

* * *

Blunt, brash, and with a hand-full of the worst pick-up lines ever, subtlety had never been Taichi's strong point. So it shouldn't have been that big of a surprise when he promptly fell out of his chair laughing upon hearing Yamato's sullenly delivered confession. 

"Holy shit—!" Taichi groped for the edge of the table, trying to pull himself up but finding that cracking up that hard didn't do anything for your coordination.

Yamato waited impatiently for Taichi to calm down, careful to look anywhere except in his best friend's direction to establish to the gawking bystanders that he did _not _want to be there. Taichi finally made his way back onto his seat. Leaning against the table, the boy didn't even try to stop smirking as he remarked, "Look, you liking guys, I can understand, but _Daisuke_?"

Yamato sat back in his chair, glaring. "Taichi..."

Taichi kept going, "Didn't you guys totally hate each other when you first met? God, this is too priceless."

"Don't make me hit you, Taichi."

"Right, sorry." Making a big show of taking a deep breath, Taichi put on his most serious expression. "What were you saying?"

Yamato hesitated. "I really don't want to talk about it anymore."

Taichi just shrugged, chewing on his straw absently. "Fine, keep it to yourself."

The blonde shifted uncomfortably as they lapsed into an awkward, uncommon silence. Drumming his fingers, eyes moving across the café restlessly, he finally spoke up. "Do you think it's weird?"

"Nah."

"But he's..."

"Daisuke's a good kid," Taichi mumbled around his straw, finishing his drink loudly before continuing, "Besides, three years isn't too bad, when you compare it to those old assholes getting married to eighteen-year-olds. It's not like... child molestation or anything. Don't worry about it."

As Yamato strayed into thought, Taichi took the opportunity to snatch the other's soda, replacing the straws and pushing the empty glass towards his friend with an indolent smile. Yamato noticed a few seconds later and raised an eyebrow dryly. "Gee, Tai, thanks."

"No problem." Taichi flashed him a nonchalant grin. "What are friends for?"

* * *

"I really don't think this is a smart idea," Takeru objected immediately, holding his hands up in protest. "Miyako's already meddling, and I doubt Daisuke would appreciate it if we start too." 

"But unlike Miyako-san, we'd actually be meddling in the lives of the right people. And we're _preventing _her meddling in the process."

"But..."

Iori raised an eyebrow. "But?"

"But Miyako would _kill_ us!"

Undaunted, Iori replied, "But if we _don't_ do anything, Yamato-san, Daisuke, _and_ Ken are going to kill us when they find out we could have stopped this whole thing from happening."

"I'd rather deal with them than Miyako." The hereditary Ishida obstinacy coming into play, Takeru leaned back into his chair, arms folded across his chest as he added, forthright, "And I am not in the mood to get my arm stabbed again."

"The wound wasn't even that deep. Or that big. Or really even a proper wound at all."

"It still hurt! What, do you want to try it?"

Iori hesitated at the suggestion despite himself. "That's not the point. The point is we should do something about this. Not a lot, just make sure Miyako-san doesn't get a chance to mess things up."

"Not a lot?" Takeru repeated. "This is Miyako we're talking about."

"How hard can it be? We'll distract, maybe create a diversion or two to draw her away from them, and then while one of us fends her off, the other can close in on Daisuke and Yamato-san and make sure the rest of the operation goes smoothly."

"You sound like we're planning a war."

"This _is_ war!"

Following was an awkward silence, in which Takeru buried his head in his hands and Iori watched, bemused. "What's wrong?"

The blonde shook his head. "We're all going to die."

"Takeru?"

Takeru groaned, his voice muffled.

"Will you help?"

More inaudible mumbling.

"You'll help, right?"

"Phfblmhfllph."

"Please?"

"... I can't believe you've managed to drag me into this."

The younger boy smiled. "Thank you. Don't worry, you won't regret this."

Takeru thought about how it was _always_ the quiet ones who seemed to think up ploys like these. He ran his fingers through his hair, forehead hitting the table surface with a sigh. "I think I will."

* * *

It was one of those days where Hikari just _had_ to wonder about Daisuke. "You're awfully cheerful today," she remarked, not sure whether to be amused or worried as her friend pretty much skipped along the sidewalk by her side, humming loudly and swinging his arms. 

She didn't receive much of a response, merely Daisuke continuing his poor rendition of old love songs. "Baby's got blue eyes"

It didn't take long for Hikari to figure it out, smart girl that she was. "Progress with Yamato lately?" she guessed, though she wasn't sure if it was wise to ask. The last time she had mentioned Yamato, Daisuke had launched into a long discussion about what a talented guy he was, how nice his smile was, how soft his hair was... he had gone on for a good fifteen minutes before Hikari had felt compelled to cut him off. Sure, she thought it was sweet, just too much on the my-teeth-are-going-to-rot-if-you-continue side.

Daisuke immediately stopped singing. "I talked to him again yesterday," he announced.

"You talk to him all the time."

"Yeah, but this time it was _special_."

"You mean you told him?"

Daisuke's smile faded. "… No."

"Then why is this so special?"

"Why do you have to be so cynical, Hikari?"

Hikari looked a little put off, and said, "I'm not cynical. I'm one of the nicest, most understanding people you'll ever know."

"… Wow, I'm doomed."

Pouting in such a way that made Daisuke wonder if he should be running quickly to buy her an ice cream, Hikari folded her arms across her chest half-heartedly. "So tell me what's so special."

Daisuke paused for dramatic effect. "He said I was... _something else._"

Hikari blinked. "Something else."

"Yeah," Daisuke's head bobbed enthusiastically as he continued, "And he did that head-patting thing that I normally hate but this was _Yamato_..."

It wasn't as climatic as she had expected, but Hikari couldn't deny that it was still rather sweet, like most of the things that brought Daisuke well above cloud nine. "Daisuke? Daisuke." She snapped her fingers in front of his face. "Back down to earth, okay?"

Daisuke swatted at her hand absently. "Yeah. Okay. Earth."

The girl shook her head, teasing. "You really _are_ a lovesick schoolgirl, Daisuke."

"School_boy_, thank you very much," Daisuke corrected. "Kindly do not doubt my masculinity."

Hikari giggled. "But you make it so hard not to."

"Hikari-chan..."

"And whining is hardly the way to prove me wrong."

"You're so _mean_, Hikari-chan."

"I'm one of the nicest people you'll ever know," she repeated. "Back to Yamato."

She was beginning to think that the name was something magical for Daisuke; he always looked like he couldn't help but smile. "What about Yamato?"

"When are you going to tell him?"

"Soon."

"Will this soon actually be soon or just whenever-I-get-the-guts-to soon?" Hikari pressed the subject further, unwilling to let it slide.

Daisuke looked uncomfortable. "Soon," he said again, the edge in his voice signaling that he did not want to continue it anymore.

The girl suddenly felt just as awkward. "Daisuke, you know it'd be best if you did it soon. Like, actually soon."

"Yeah, I know," Daisuke replied quickly as they continued down the sidewalk. "This weekend, maybe, after the gig when everyone's happy and there's a less chance of me getting the shit beat out of me. Of course I'll have to compete with all the other fans trying to profess their own undying love. But, you know. Might as well."

His response came in the form of an encouraging smile. "You'll be fine, Daisuke."

Pleased that this was over with, Daisuke gave her a mock glare. "Now, if you'll excuse me, you've just really killed my happy float-y feelings, and I should sort of catch up now."

Hikari made a wide, sweeping gesture. "Go ahead."

The boy matched her bright smile. "Baby's got blue eyes," he sang, "like a deep blue sea...!"


	4. Of Love Lives Being Shot to Hell

**04 In Which Love Lives Are Shot to Hell**

* * *

Ken liked to think of himself as a sensible person. A person who would consider all the possibilities, keep a calm and collected outlook in the face of danger, not come to immediate conclusions, avoid rushing into things without previous planning, and approach things fairly and logically when not knowing all the facts.

Thus, he thought it was completely justified when he opened the door and, upon seeing who was on the other side, promptly shut it in Miyako's face.

"Ken, you _asshole_."

Wincing, Ken slowly turned the knob, opening the door wide enough to see Miyako's unhappy look. Steeling himself for whatever was about to come, he put on an apologetic smile and greeted hesitantly, "Miyako... hello. Sorry, I thought you were a salesperson."

"Whatever." She paused, waiting for the boy to let her in, and when he made no move to do so, she rolled her eyes. "So," she said, leaning against the doorframe, "since I'm _not_, I'm sure you have no problem in letting me in."

"Of course not." Ken opened the door fully, closing it with a sigh once the girl bounded into the apartment with undisguised purpose. "Make yourself comfortable. Anything I can get for you?"

"No, I'm good. Thanks." Taking a seat on the couch, Miyako patted the small space next to her. "Sit down and let's talk."

Ken's eyes moved from the girl to the beckoning spot next to her. He didn't even pretend to consider. After all, he had known Miyako long enough to recognize the glint in her eyes. "Actually," he gestured to the kitchen, "I was going to go make myself some... tea. Maybe later?"

Miyako didn't miss a beat. "Right now would be best," she replied smoothly, rising from the couch, "I'll just help you out."

The boy winced again. Miyako had the tendency to do just what you were hoping she wouldn't. "Yeah, sure. That'd be nice."

He entered the kitchen with deliberate slowness, completely aware of the girl following close behind. Preparing himself for what was to come, he finally asked, "So, what was it you wanted to talk about?"

Miyako jumped right to the point. "Ken, you've never had a girlfriend, right? Or a boyfriend?" She had never been fond of beating around the bush. Her tact rivaled that of Daisuke, which was saying something.

Ken paused. He reached for the box of tea packets in the cupboard. "No. Why do you ask?"

Miyako kept her tone cheerful. "Just thinking that maybe you should start looking for one. A little love might do you good."

Frowning, Ken grabbed a packet and dropped it into his mug stiffly. "I never knew you were so interested in my love life."

"Nonexistent love life," the girl added helpfully, and hardly batted an eyelid as Ken looked at her darkly. Leaning against the counter space next to him, she continued, "But really, think about it. I could set you up with someone, you know. I already have a person in mind. You two could go out after Yamato's gig on Saturday."

"I'm afraid I can't," Ken replied, reaching for the boiling water. "I have things to take care of after the concert."

Miyako pressed on, "What kind of things?"

"Things," the boy said, his frustrated voice betraying his poised movements as he poured the water fluidly, attention focused on the teakettle as if it was spouting off the secrets of the universe.

The girl wasn't impressed with his answer. "I'm sure you can put the things off until Sunday for this."

"Actually, _I'm_ sure the things are more important than whatever you're planning." Ken set the kettle down, head bowed. Miyako just grinned, not bothering to hide the quirk of her mouth.

"What kind of things?"

"_Things_, Miyako," Ken gritted out.

"It's just a date, Ken. Maybe you'll have fun."

"To be honest, I'd have a lot more fun if you could just leave me alone."

Miyako frowned. "Be nice."

"I am being nice," the boy muttered between sips of tea. "You're stubborn. I'm not interested."

Rejection didn't register well with Miyako. "Don't be like that, Ken. Repression isn't cool."

There was no immediate response. Ken finished his tea and slammed his mug back onto the countertop.

"Miyako," he said acidly, "you're like a cockroach."

Miyako looked genuinely curious. "Why's that?"

"I step on you. I throw things at you. I poison you. I try to murder you in every way creatively possible to mankind," Ken's voice was a quiet, fierce whisper. "I plant a nuclear fucking bomb on you and I _still can't get rid of you._"

Silence was his only answer. Miyako stared, and Ken could only hope that the girl was, for once, listening to whatever was left of her common decency.

No such luck. Miyako clasped her hands together. "So is that a yes?"

* * *

When Takeru met up with Daisuke, his first words were, "How's it going with Yamato?"

Daisuke watched as Takeru made himself comfortable on his couch, complaining, "Why does everyone always want to talk to me about Yamato? Is my crush the _only_ exciting thing happening in their lives?"

"It might help if you didn't always want to talk about Yamato too," Takeru suggested cheerfully. "How has your summer been?"

Daisuke interrupted before he could finish. "Actually, let's talk about Yamato."

The blonde looked mildly amused. "Okay. What about him?"

Daisuke bounced excitedly onto the couch, next to Takeru, hugging a cushion to his chest. "I'm going out with him after his gig!"

Takeru stared, surprised and relieved. "Wait, really? That's great! So you told him?" Maybe now he would be allowed a piece of overdue normality. It would be a refreshing change.

His hopes were short-lived. Daisuke shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. " Miyako set me up."

Takeru blinked. Once. Twice. Had to resist the urge to smack his forehead. Sighing, he repeated, "Miyako set you up." Daisuke nodded eagerly, which only caused the blonde to sigh again. Why couldn't anything _good_ ever happen in his life?

"Did she _say_ she was setting you up with Yamato?"

Daisuke gave him a weird look. "She said it was my crush. Who is Yamato." Clearly implying, _duh_. Takeru chose to ignore it, concentrating on the impending doom of his friend's nonexistent love life.

"Daisuke," Takeru chose his words carefully. "I think it'd be best if you didn't go along with it."

Daisuke sat up a little straighter, curious and looking a little worried. "Why's that?"

The blonde was unsure on how to explain the entire misunderstanding. " Miyako doesn't know you like Yamato."

Daisuke protested, "Yeah she does. She said she figured it out based on what I told her."

"Yes, but—"

Daisuke's eyes suddenly widened, and the blonde hoped what he had said had finally sunken in. But then they narrowed, and Takeru sighed as he braced himself. "Wait," Daisuke said, and jammed a finger at Takeru's chest, "Miyako told me this would happen. She said you kept trying to convince her not to help me out with Yamato."

Takeru briefly wondered whether he should bring up the fact that Daisuke hadn't wanted Miyako "helping" him in the first place either. Daisuke didn't give him the chance.

"What the hell, Takeru! I thought I could trust you! I thought I could depend on you to help me through this!"

Takeru stared, bemused. Daisuke had to be the first guy he knew to go through female hormones. "Look," he said, "I don't know what Miyako's been saying, but I know that going to this date Miyako's setting up will _not_ end well."

Daisuke rubbed his face, obviously frustrated. He slouched back on the couch, staring at the TV. It was playing really bad soap operas. "Look, I know you're just looking out for me, but can we please talk about something else now?"

Takeru sighed and obliged. "So how's your summer been so far, Daisuke?"

"Good," was the sullen reply. "Yours?"

The blonde hesitated. "... good."

Silence reigned for the next few minutes (in which the soap opera's hero confessed his love, and his amnesiac ex-girlfriend fell sobbing into his arms) until Daisuke asked, "You know Yamato?"

Takeru blinked. "…Yeah."

"He has the _greatest_ hair..."

* * *

"Shit, Ishida." Takashi banged on his cymbals in frustration, gaining the attention of everyone in the studio room and probably some outside. "The gig's in two days and you can't even remember your own lyrics!"

"Stop it," Yutaka muttered, ever the peacemaker, "We're all a little stressed."

Yamato shook his head, apologetic as he ran a hand through his hair. "No, he's right. I've been out of it lately."

"No worries, man." Akira fingered his guitar strings, going through his riff silently. "Take it from the top?"

Takashi groaned. "Again?" After playing the same drum line six times, you tended to get a little impatient. Or, in his case, impatient enough to consider throwing his drumsticks at their beloved vocalist.

Yutaka seemed to realize what he was thinking because he gracefully abandoned his position behind the keyboard in favor of stealing Takashi's drumsticks and placing them in the back pocket of his jeans. "Let's take a break," he suggested, and was met with unanimous agreement.

Once they had gotten situated and comfortable, Akira turned to Yamato curiously. "So who's Daisuke?"

Yamato started, jerking his head in the guitarist's direction. "What?"

"You kept singing Daisuke instead of daisuki."

The blonde tried his best not to flush. He looked down, muttering, "Just a guy."

There was an ominous silence as the band members considered the soft confession, then Takashi clapped his hands together, leering as he intoned, "Oh, a _guy_. That changes everything."

Akira tried to hide a laugh. "You should have told us earlier, Ishida. No one can blame you for being spacey if you're _lovesick_."

Much laughter, hilarity, and general mockery ensued before Yamato was given a chance to break in. Scowling, the vocalist folded his arms across his chest and protested, "I'm _not_ lovesick."

"Of course not," Yutaka agreed amiably. "Have we met him?"

"Is he cute?" Takashi quipped, and Akira coughed loudly to disguise a snicker.

Yamato glared darkly, without any effect. Rolling his eyes, he said, "He's... shorter than me, really tan, he has this spiky sort of red-brown hair..."

"The Taichi look-alike?"

"He doesn't look like Taichi," the blonde protested as the others began cooing on cue. Sinking into his seat, he tried to drown them out.

"Really? That's so sweet!"

"The kid's adorable."

"You should send him chocolate," Akira suggested, and waited until all eyes were on him, even Yamato's, before reciting, "Dearest Daisuke, please enjoy the sweets. But know that you'll always be the sweetest in my heart. Yours always, _Yama-chan_."

Yamato, too busy trying not to blush, was having a hard time concentrating on ways to decapitate his guitarist.

"Lay off, guys," Yutaka interrupted, grinning broadly, and Yamato was in the process of sending him a grateful look before Yutaka continued, "After all, we shouldn't be making fun of him and his _one true love_."

More laughter. Yamato groaned and let his head hit the plastic table gently, unaware that somewhere else in Odaiba, his younger brother was doing the same. Must be genetics.

Yamato looked up irritably. "I'd appreciate it if you'd all leave me and my love life alone."

"You don't have a love life," Akira pointed out.

"You haven't had one since Takenouchi."

Takashi snickered. "Guess we know why."

Yamato growled and climbed out of his seat. "That's it. Practice. From the top."

With a collective groan, the rest of the band slowly stood up and started heading back to the equipment, assuming their positions with practiced ease. Akira passed the microphone stand on the way to his guitar and couldn't pass up the opportunity to murmur, "But Daisuke-chan will help out with that nonexistent love life of yours, right?"

The guitarist's arm was promptly introduced to Yamato's fist.


	5. It's Always Darkest

**05 It's Always Darkest Before It Turns Pitch Black**

* * *

Daisuke almost didn't recognize Ken when the boy stepped off the train, and when he did, he did a startled double take, eyes wide. "Holy—wow."

The rest of the welcoming party, which consisted of Miyako and Takeru, turned, saw, and promptly assumed satisfied and astonished expressions, respectfully. The blonde gaped shamelessly at Ken's attire. On anyone else, it wouldn't have been nearly as weird. But for Ken, who was a little shy about showing off his body, the clothes were startling – the slim fitting black tank top, army boots, low jeans. Tossing Miyako a glance from the corner of his eyes, Takeru wasn't surprised to see a pleased curve settling on her lips. He didn't know how she did it, but it figured that she'd be able to set Ken up to something like this.

Ken didn't seem very comfortable himself, looking around the station in the familiar way people did when they didn't want to be seen, let alone recognized. When he finally caught sight of Daisuke and the others, he hurried over, a small flush rising to his cheeks when he noticed the looks he was receiving. "Hello," he greeted breathlessly, rubbing his bare arms awkwardly.

"Um," Daisuke said, still staring.

"Hi," Takeru added, filling the pause as Daisuke picked his jaw up off the ground. "You look good. Different. But… good."

Ken looked relieved. "Really?" He gestured towards Miyako, who blew him a kiss in response. "She picked out the outfit and threatened me into wearing it. It's awkward, embarrassing, _stupid_, and someday I'll get you back for this." Takeru had to blink a few times before he realized that the other boy had abruptly stopped talking to him and began addressing Miyako instead.

Oh yeah. He felt the love.

"You'll thank me later," the girl said easily. "We should get going. Everyone's waiting for us. Besides, the sooner we leave, the sooner we get to the cafe, the sooner we can see the Wolves' concert, the sooner you guys can get to whatever you're doing _after_ it." Her emphasis was hard to ignore or misunderstand.

Ken sighed, obviously not wanting to be reminded about his little set-up date, while Daisuke promptly forgot about his best friend's outfit and smiled dreamily instead.

It took all of Takeru's willpower not to bang his head against the nearest hard, flat surface.

* * *

Iori stared at Ken, then at Takeru. "What is he _wearing_?"

Takeru shrugged helplessly.

Iori kicked the sidewalk. "Stupid Miyako-san."

Gathering together, and successfully pissing off the people who were trying to walk around them, the Chosen huddled together for a head count. (Daisuke huddled particularly close to Yamato, and Ken was, in turn, shoved ungracefully into his best friend.) Three people missing.

"Jyou's college-browsing in Kyoto, Mimi's still in the States, and Hikari's sick in bed," Taichi said. "Her boyfriend has the flu and she went to visit him yesterday, but then she _caught_ it from him, the bastard—" Following was the typical protective brother rant, in which Yamato nodded sympathetically, interrupting with a few of his own experiences with Takeru. The younger blonde turned bright red.

Daisuke threw an arm around Takeru's shoulders and made an off-handed comment about what a great brother Yamato must make. In turn, the other boy jabbed his friend in the side roughly and mentioned something about what a great corpse _he_ would make. After all, his thick skull would look just stunning with the basement decor. Daisuke got the hint and shut up quickly.

The group of nine managed to make it to the cafe without much of a problem, despite Miyako's constant tripping that sent Ken flying into Daisuke's chest, and the looks Yamato would send sometimes that made Iori smile into the palm of his hand.

All in all, nothing too extraordinary.

Getting seated ended up being a bit of a hassle, however. They had to push two tables together, and even that left them with only eight seats. After a little arguing, they (or rather, Miyako) decided that Daisuke and Ken should share a seat. The original suggestion had been for Ken to sit on Daisuke's _lap_, but the amount of protest had been incredible, so the girl had to settle for the two of them both taking half of the chair. Close enough.

Not everyone was as pleased with the arrangements, however. Iori was annoyed, and expressed this by stabbing at his napkin with a fork, while Yamato bit his lip and tried not to stare at the pair sitting across from him. Takeru just really wanted the day to be over.

But the awkward atmosphere was soon forgotten as conversation picked up. Miyako went to fetch them food and some drinks, and Iori's napkin was spared as he turned his attention back onto Yamato and Daisuke. Hida Iori was not a quitter.

"Yamato-san," he turned to the older boy sitting next to him and began in the most unassuming, innocent way, "have you had any girlfriends lately?"

Yamato blinked. Ken and Daisuke did also. " Not lately."

"Okay. Any boyfriends?"

"Um, no."

Iori looked thoughtful. "Is that because you haven't found anyone yet, or are you just not interested in the male population?"

By now, Daisuke was listening eagerly. Yamato, on the other hand, looked rather uneasy, unsure of how to answer. He wasn't about to admit his tiny, miniscule crush on Daisuke _in front of Daisuke_. No matter how small he thought it was. "Um... the first one?"

"So that means you have nothing against dating guys?"

"Where are you going with this?" Yamato demanded, but sighed when Iori stared back seriously. "Um, yeah. Nothing at all. Guys. Whoo."

Daisuke couldn't help but look deliriously happy. His smile quickly disappeared, though, when Iori decided to turn to him next. "What about you, Daisuke?"

A confused look. "Um," Daisuke said intelligently.

Iori explained slowly, "Are you dating anyone?"

"No! No." Daisuke shook his head rapidly, eyes flickering towards Yamato. "No. Single. Guys and girls. I enjoy long walks on the beach and romantic—" He paused. "Ken, what are you doing?"

Ken frowned. "Nothing."

"You keep _rubbing_ against me."

"I'm uncomfortable! We're sitting too close, and—Daisuke, stop touching me there—"

"You're sitting on my hand!"

"Christ, just…"

Iori rubbed his forehead. It wasn't supposed to be like that. What happened to dramatic confessions on tabletops? It had worked out so well in his head.

By now, the rest of the group was staring. An uncomfortable silence followed, in which Iori went sullenly back to his napkin, Daisuke got his hand free, Yamato ran his fingers through his hair nervously, and Takeru buried his head in his hands. Taichi cleared his throat uncomfortably and tried to think of something to say that didn't involve sticking his foot in his mouth.

Much to their relief, Miyako chose this time to reappear, a tray of drinks balancing in her hands and a suspiciously cheerful smile on his lips. Approaching the joint tables quickly, she was just a few feet away from reaching them when she hooked one of her feet over the other's heel, tripping over herself and doing a good job of making it seem like an accident. As she stumbled forward in Ken and Daisuke's direction, the tray lurched, drinks knocking against each other precariously. Another shaky step sent the drink on the farthest edge falling off the tray, contents spilling over whoever was unlucky enough to be in the way.

Ken saw Miyako loose her balance first and immediately tried to scramble out of range, managing to get away without as much damage as his best friend, who could only blink as his shirt and hair suddenly became drenched in some nameless soda.

There was a threatening silence as all eyes focused on the trio. Daisuke was breathing deeply, as if trying to calm down before he jumped at someone's throat, and Ken wore the same familiar blank look that usually signified death in the near future. As for Miyako, she looked far too pleased for someone who was about to be decapitated. Finally, the girl clasped a hand over her mouth, the other one still clasped solidly on the tray, much to everyone else's relief. Placing it on the table gingerly, she was quick to apologize. "Oh my god! Um, look, I'm really sorry — it was a total accident, I'm such a klutz."

Ken touched the soda-drenched tips of his hair distastefully before reaching for a napkin to clean off his arm. "Sure," he said dryly. Beside him, Daisuke's fingers clenched, unclenched.

"Why don't you two go to the bathroom to clean up?" Miyako offered.

"Yeah," Daisuke grumbled, getting up from his seat. "Come on, Ken."

Iori's eyes widened in realization. As an irritated Daisuke began pulling Ken out of their seat, the younger boy promptly kicked Takeru in the shin, jerking his head in their direction. "Do something!"

"Ow! Me?" Takeru whispered back fiercely. What had he done in his past life to deserve such abuse? "Why not you?" His only answer was another kick. Swearing under his breath, he raised his voice and suggested loudly, "Hey, 'niichan, why don't you go with them?" Now all eyes had turned to him. Takeru swallowed nervously. "You know, help out with their hair and stuff. You're supposed to be good with hair things or something, right?" Stuff. Or something. You're a _smooth_ operator, Takaishi.

Luckily, Yamato wasn't one to doubt his little brother. He got up slowly. "I guess..."

Miyako didn't get a chance to butt in before the three of them headed off. Immediately pinning her glare on Takeru, she grabbed a plastic fork. "Can I speak with you, Takaishi? In private?"

Takeru tugged on Iori's sleeve, panicked. Iori just shrugged hopelessly. "I'm sorry," he said.

The blonde was dragged out of the cafe, struggling. "Iori, crap, Iori _help_ me—"

Sora and Koushirou could only watch, afraid to interfere.

A sudden sound averted their attention to Taichi, who had apparently made a habit out of falling out of chairs. The boy grasped onto the edge of the table helplessly, explaining between breathless laughter, "Yamato, Daisuke — bathroom — oh god, this is fantastic —"

The three sane Chosen exchanged looks.

"So..."

"Right..."

"She can't win," Iori said to himself, "Takeru and I will never let her win. Even Miyako-san doesn't have the right to stand between two people in love!"

Okay, maybe only _two_ remaining sane Chosen. Sora and Koushirou glanced at each other again.

"So..."

"Right."

Sometimes, ignorance was bliss.


	6. In the Name of Love

**06 In The Name of Love**

* * *

"What the fuck are you doing?"

"What the fuck are _you_ doing?"

"What the _fuck_?"

"What the fuck—ow!"

Miyako withdrew her fork, looking half-accomplished, half-pissed off. "I want some _answers_, Takaishi."

Takeru merely scowled, rubbing his arm. It was the same one as before, too - damn it. "You should be asking Iori."

"Iori?" the girl repeated, eying him with suspicion and curiosity. A short pause followed and Takeru sent a prayer out to whatever deity listening that Miyako would stop abusing him, but the thought was promptly shot to hell when the plastic fork made a vengeful return. "Takaishi Takeru, stop trying to blame the innocent!"

Torn between laughing and crying at the pure _ridiculousness_ of it all, Takeru settled for jumping back instead. "_Innocent_?" He repeated the motion to avoid Miyako's weapon of choice. "You think Iori's _innocent_?"

Ha. Ha.

_Ha._

"Yes!" Miyako began attacking with increased vigor, and Takeru gave up on trying to dodge and settled for fighting back instead, trying to wrestle the fork from her hand.

"Assuming, sadistic—" broken by a yelp, "bitch!"

"Imbecilic chauvinistic bastard!"

"You don't even know what that means!"

"Are you doubting my intelligence?!"

Catfight, commence.

* * *

From the window, the remaining four Chosen watched the spectacle. 

"My money's on Takeru," Taichi said, eyes not once leaving the scene.

"Miyako's vicious, though." Koushirou winced slightly, watching as the dreaded plastic fork met its target enough times to cause even viewers extreme discomfort.

Taichi shook his head. "But Takeru's related to Yamato. And if he's anything like his brother... he's going to put up more than just a tough fight." As if to prove his point, Miyako swore loudly and creatively, audible even through the separating glass. All four flinched.

Sora coughed into a fist, averting her gaze. "Don't you think we should break them up?"

No response. Sighing, the girl occupied herself with watching again. At least she had tried.

Off to the side, Iori had taken the role of cheerleader, with encouraging remarks such as, "that's it, Takeru, make her regret ever messing with one true love!"

The other three, wisely, didn't comment.

* * *

In the bathroom, true love had its own fair share of problems to deal with. 

"Wow, um, wait, Daisuke—"

"Something wrong?" Ken asked as he moved to lock the door, brushing past the now shirtless Daisuke.

Unable to stop staring, Yamato managed to reply with a faint, "no." Daisuke grinned over his shoulder, bright, confident, and padded over to the sink, humming.

The act of cleaning up was quickly set into motion. Ken's arm was relatively easy to take care of; a few wet paper towels and voila. Daisuke, however...

His discarded shirt was doused in water, courtesy of Ken, who kept on watching Yamato with an amused and suspicious enough look that was enough to make him uncomfortable. Once the soda was properly washed out (they rinsed six times to be safe), the shirt was then directed towards the blow dryer, which Ken insisted on doing so that Yamato could wash Daisuke's hair.

Yamato was beginning to suspect traces of a conspiracy.

"Bend over," Yamato said, a bit hesitant. Daisuke did so without any qualms, ridiculous smile obscured from view as he positioned himself as directed. "No shampoo," Yamato continued, trying to be casual, "Guess we'll have to improvise. Is soap okay?"

"No problem," came the light reassurance.

"You should hurry up, Yamato," Ken called out from next to the blow dryer. He wore a poker face, but there was a soft smirk in his voice.

"Don't rush him, Ken," Daisuke grinned.

"Sorry." He didn't sound very sorry at all.

Exhaling deeply, Yamato turned the water on.

* * *

"Hey, Tai..." 

Taichi remained riveted on the ongoing fight. "Sora?"

The girl glanced to the side nervously, biting her lower lip. "I think the manager is going to call the police."

A beat.

"... oh."

Watching the battling pair warily, Taichi paused for a long moment before finally moving away from the window. The other three followed after him as he strode outside purposefully to assert his unquestioned authority over—

"Ow—crap! Damn it, Miyako, watch where you stick that thing!"

* * *

"How are you doing, Daisuke?" 

Daisuke flashed a v-sign behind his back.

Ken sounded thoughtful. "It looks fun."

"… Ken," said Yamato.

"Daisuke has nice hair. Don't you think so?"

"_Ken_."

Silence. Yamato breathed out in relief. Too soon, however.

"Do you think you could wash my hair too, Yamato?"

Yamato swore quietly. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, hands soapy and wet; regardless, he managed to make a rude gesture at Ken's general area. "No, I'm not going to wash your hair."

"That's too bad." Ken smiled lazily. "You seem like you're really good at it."

Daisuke's voice was a little muffled, dreamy; his body was pliant with undisguised contentment. "Leave 'im alone, Ken…"

"Sorry, Daisuke," Ken apologized, and couldn't help but add, "I just thought, since Yamato looks like he's enjoying it so much…"

Yamato glared. "For Christ's sake…"

Ken finally backed off. "Right. Sorry."

They continued in silence. Yamato dug his fingers back into Daisuke's hair, caressing his scalp. His hands were soft. Daisuke groaned happily. Ken rolled his eyes and hid a smile behind his hand. If he was humming very obvious love songs in the process, it wasn't because he was trying to drive Yamato crazy.

Much.

* * *

Five minutes and two bruises later, Taichi managed to breakup the catfight before Miyako came any closer to tearing out the other's liver and eating it. Not that Takeru was any better - gone was the kind and mild-mannered blonde, replaced with the human equivalent of a rabid dog foaming at the mouth. 

"I won," Takeru spoke up suddenly, interrupting Taichi's mental rehearsal of an appropriate reprimanding lecture.

"Did not," came the grumbled negative as Miyako sunk deeper into her seat.

"I broke your fork! I won."

"You're more hurt than I am!"

"Doesn't matter. I still broke your fork."

"Ladies, ladies," Taichi sighed, running a hand across his face. Screw the lecture. He needed aspirin.

The bathroom trio paraded out just before round two could start, and Miyako gave up her scramble for another fork in favor of waving at Daisuke, who, despite his slightly damp shirt and hair, looked incredibly pleased.

Taichi mustered a smile as Miyako's lust for blood disintegrated. "Thank god."

Iori winced as Miyako directed her attention onto harassing Daisuke and Ken instead. "Oh, god."

* * *

"Daisuke looks good, doesn't he?" 

Ken choked on his own saliva. "What?"

"Daisuke," Miyako continued. "You know, the wet-and-sexy look. He does it pretty well."

Ken refrained from saying anything. "... you're insane." Well, maybe _one_ thing.

Miyako motioned towards Daisuke. "You don't think he does?"

Ken opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again when he found himself being hauled off abruptly by the arm.

"Sorry, Miyako-san," Iori called out over his shoulder, and offered her a polite smile, "but Ken really wants to send Yamato-san his best wishes. Right, Ken?"

Startled, Ken could only allow himself be dragged. "Yamato. Right."

Miyako, ever a faithful advocate of maturity, stuck out her tongue in response.

Yamato currently had his arms full of one Motomiya Daisuke, though it's not like he was complaining much. Casting Akira a couple stray glances, ignoring the guitarist's teasing gestures from inside the car, he looked back down at Daisuke and grinned helplessly. "I really _should _go, though, Daisuke..."

"You can ride on the train with us!"

Takeru rolled his eyes. "Come on, Daisuke."

Though disappointed, Daisuke relented, allowing Yamato his own personal space again. "Fiiiine. Good luck, Yamato!"

"You'll do great, 'niichan," Takeru smiled, and ducked his head as Yamato thoroughly ruffled his hair.

A chorus of goodbyes followed, and Yamato returned the sentiment before heading off towards where Akira was waiting. Daisuke watched him longingly. "There he goes."

Takeru sighed and took Daisuke by the elbow. "Let's go, lover boy."

* * *

The train was incredibly crowded when they boarded, and after a moment of getting situated, the problem became apparent. 

Daisuke bit his lip, glancing around at the lack of unoccupied seats, hands jammed in his pockets awkwardly before he decided to grasp one of the rings hanging overhead. Miyako, however, knew an opportunity when she saw one.

"Daisuke, you don't want to stand the whole time!"

The boy blinked. "I don't?"

"You don't," she repeated, and gestured towards Ken. "The ride's too long. Go sit in his lap."

Ken frowned. "This _again_?"

At the same time, Iori shot up from his seat, shaking his head adamantly. "He must be bored of Ken's lap by now. Here, Daisuke can sit on... Takeru!"

Takeru immediately meshed his fingers together and folded them in his lap, as if to say: off limits.

Sensing the mounting tension, not to mention the fact that the passengers on the train were starting to stare, Taichi decided that it was part of his responsibility as the leader to interrupt. "Hey, it's alright. Sora can sit in my lap, and then Daisuke can take her seat." He glanced across at the girl sitting at his side, "Sora?"

Sora nodded, making a move as if to get up.

"No, it's okay!" Miyako flailed. " Daisuke can sit in Ken's lap."

"It's no problem," Sora reassured, "Tai and I have done this before…"

With a roll of the eyes, Daisuke interrupted before the ridiculous argument could be drawn out any further. "Forget it, guys. I'll just sit in Ken's lap."

Ken opened his mouth as if to object, then closed it grudgingly and shifted to accommodate Daisuke as his friend sat on his knees, still holding onto one of the poles near the door. Miyako was smug. Iori was frustrated. Takeru was going crazy.

The rest of the evening couldn't go by fast enough.


End file.
